As the mercury fell away on Saturday, the Cold War was revived at The Rec – and the nukes very nearly went off.
The commanders-in-chief of two potent armies with opposed philosophies went eyeball-to-eyeball, playing a dangerous game of brinkmanship and waiting for the other to blink first.
The ruthless Comrade Edwards – who had foregone battle-dress for the day and had instead opted for a peculiar civvy outfit, complete with silly hat – strode across the turf with the swagger of a seen-it-all-before Napoleon.
But he, sensing that conditions were unfavourable for combat – and with a number of his key foot soldiers in the field hospital – ordered his troops to remain billeted at Bunker Hilton.
Hand-to-hand combat, he had decided, would not take place this day, January 10 AD 2009.
Instead, the waspish military mastermind had resolved to survey the terrain, play for time, and then board his tank back to that most forbidding of strongholds, Fort High Wycombe.
It was a stratagem that would make him few friends in a hostile county; it would not win over hearts and minds. Some might even say it was a cynical ploy.
But war, Comrade Edwards reminded himself, was an unpleasant business. And Comrade Edwards hadn’t come to Bath to make any friends, anyway.
Come to think of it, he didn’t go anywhere to make friends.
Except, perhaps, the principality of Wales.
His opposite number, General Meehan, kept his own counsel, pondering – hoping – that today would indeed be the day that battle would be joined on the glorious field of The Rec.
His trusted staff had been up throughout the night bearing a whole arsenal of weapons, preparing the site for the slaughter of Comrade Edwards’s forces.
Sensing vulnerability and an attitude of we’d-all-rather-be-having-a-cup-of-tea-in-Buckinghamshire-than-fighting-in-Bath, he hoped to sting his opponent where it hurt.
Gen Meehan’s previous outing – a foray into the inhospitable tundra of the East Midlands – had ended in ignominy following a surprise ambush just when it looked like another medal was in the bag.
Anxious to consign that bitter loss to the past and restore his army’s triumphant ways, he was spoiling for a fight and wouldn’t give a XXXX for anything else.
In the end, it took a United Nations delegation – presided over by the French diplomat Romain Poite – to intervene and ensure mutually assured destruction was averted.
Merde, thought Gen Meehan, who had picked up the lingo while garrisoned in Norman territories as a subaltern. The frustrated general wanted to tell Comrade Edwards to buzz off, but diplomatic protocol prevented such an outburst.
Despite achieving the principal objective of Operation Leave The Rec As Quickly As Possible, Comrade Edwards turned to the Sky and could be heard muttering the words ‘O ref, where is thy sting?’
Before Gen Meehan can exact a terrible revenge, he has to lead his men on a merry march over the Severn. Military analysts are also predicting a dangerous incursion into the South West by French forces.
If he can triumph on those two fronts, then Gen Meehan is widely expected to knock Comrade Edwards’s men black and yellow at their next meeting.
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